Oh great. The giant wasn’t done yet. Jack banged his head against the gold coin in frustration.
Jack couldn’t take much more of this. Not only was it like having a thunderstorm in his head, it was also taking way too long. Jack was bored. And he really, really had to pee. There were no mattresses around, either. Or a toilet. He sometimes used toilets, too.
Honestly, Jack, you got yourself into this mess. It serves you right to have to sit here and listen to this for the next several hours. I don’t feel sorry for you.
Fine, no, I can’t stand it anymore, either. Run for it, Jack!
Certain he was about to be squashed like a pea, Jack darted out from under the sack. He raced under the table. A giant hand swooped down in slow motion. The wind from it knocked Jack flat on his back. But he scrambled away from the fingers, each as big as he was, just in time.
He could see the mouse hole now, but the giant was dragging the table away! Jack wouldn’t have any cover then. The sound of the table scraping against the floor was terrible. Jack ran as fast as he could.
He didn’t need to worry too much. What the giant had in size, he lacked in speed. A foot slammed down where Jack had been seconds before, easily missing him. Jack darted to one side. Then to the other. Every boot smash was an earthquake, every hand grab a hurricane. Jack was buffeted to and fro. But he was getting closer and closer to his escape!
Jack screeched to a halt. The giant crouched down in front of the wall, blocking Jack’s escape! The giant put his face against the floor. He fixed one eyeball on Jack. The eyeball was half as tall as Jack, and far rounder. (Which is good—it would be weird to have an eyeball that was person-shaped. Then it would be less of an eyeball and more of an eyecylinder.)
Jack had no other way to get out. The door was closed. The windows were two stories up. All Jack had was the huge gold coin, still clutched against his chest.
Jack debated his options. He needed this coin! But he needed to stay alive more than that. The giant’s hand was coming down from above.
“Argh!” Jack shouted, throwing the coin like a Frisbee. It cut through the air, smashing against the giant’s eye. The giant blinked, flinching away. Jack darted through the new opening. He was in the mouse hole! He was safe!
A rush of wind pushed at his back. He tumbled through the mouse hole, not even pausing to imagine giant spiders this time. (I won’t, either, or else I won’t be able to sleep tonight.) The giant had his mouth to the hole and was still shouting.
Jack somersaulted out of the hole. He hit the clouds running. In the distance was his beanstalk, his way home.
At the beanstalk, gasping for breath, Jack paused. He had waited this long to get the whole message. He hated to go down without hearing the end of it. The giant would grind his bones to make what?
“Bread?” Jack said, flinging his arms up. “You’ll grind my bones to make bread? That’s disgusting! Who would ever want to eat bread made out of bones? It would taste like—” Jack put a hand over his mouth, horrified. He knew exactly what it would taste like, because he had eaten some.
Oh dear. Look the other way, please. You don’t want to watch this next part.
Jack threw up all over those fluffy white clouds as you wisely looked across the horizon. There were a lot of houses up here, not just one. It looked like a whole cloud land, full of giants. You had better get going, Jack.
“I know, I know,” he muttered, his stomach sore and empty now. He had a long climb down ahead of him. He had no gold. He had no cow. He didn’t even have any magic beans anymore.
And that, my friends, is why you always ask for a receipt. And also why you don’t break into giants’ homes or eat food that doesn’t have an ingredient label. But mostly the first one.
On further thought, perhaps I should have stayed and examined what, exactly, was going on with that empty sack and that unmoving huntsman. The queen had been very specific about how he was supposed to leave the sack with Snow White in the middle of a sunny meadow. But there it was, in the middle of the deepest, darkest woods. Maybe we should go back and take a look.
Nah! I’m sure everything is totally fine.
Let’s go visit this old woman who lives in a shoe. All her kids smell like dirty socks, she doesn’t feed them much, and she whips them before bed. It’s hilarious—you’re going to love it.
No? You … want to go into the deepest, darkest woods? But nothing good ever happens there!
Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
On this day, in the deepest, darkest part of the woods, seven dwarves were trudging home. Their cloaks were pulled tightly over their faces, and they squinted against what few dim rays of sunlight managed to fight their way through the thick cover of trees.
The forest here was old: gnarled and knotted, mossed and rotted. It smelled like decay. Even the birds singing in the tree were off-key, their tweeting more like funeral dirges than cheerful birdsong. Even though it was daytime, the cold never quite left. On the brightest summer afternoon, the air down here was damp and chill. It seemed to tug with clammy fingers. (Are you really sure you want to be here? I know a lot of other stories! We can visit them, instead!)
Snow White threw open the windows of the seven dwarves’ cottage, singing her own funeral tune with all the joy her little unbeating heart could contain. Oh my! I had forgotten how beautiful she was! How sweet and good! How much I loved staring into her black,
black eyes. I don’t want to be anywhere else but here.
Snow White was happy. Now that she wasn’t trapped in that wretched castle, she could do as she pleased! First, she had enjoyed such a nice meal with that big stupid huntsman. Then she had found seven little dwarves who simply loved her to death. It had been so long since anyone adored her! Her stepmother certainly hadn’t. That horrible woman had never done anything to make Snow White happy. And now she had seven little friends who lived to do whatever she asked of them!
It was perfect.